Boys will be boys
by bloodmagik
Summary: Brotherly bickering. Boys will be boys - that doesn't mean that Ellen will put up with them. Rated M for language.


My usual stuff is pretty heavy on the angst so I thought I'd try something a bit lighter. Hopefully I've managed to get the characters right. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. This is for fun.

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He's hoping that the painkillers he downed after lunch will take the edge off his headache and allow him to function enough to do two things: one, make some sort of sense of the large amount of lore spread out on the bar in front of him and two, figure out what the hell it is they're hunting before his head explodes. He's not sure either is going to happen given that his head is starting to throb and he's no closer to solving the case than he was last night. His brother isn't exactly helping; he's at the other end of the bar flirting with Jo whilst watching for her mother out of the corner of his eye. Ellen will give Dean her blessing before he willingly does research. He's on his own for this part. Thanks, Dean.

He lets his head drop into his hands in frustration, tries to rub the blurriness from his eyes, sighs when it obstinately refuses to disappear. Someone claps him on the shoulder and he flinches, tendrils of pain clambering upwards from the base of his skull to his temple. "Got it figured out yet, Geek?" His brother drops heavily onto the stool next to him. "No," he huffs, gesturing towards Ellen, who's wiping down a table at the far side of the room. "It's kinda hard to concentrate when Ellen's over there looking like she's trying to think of a way to off you and make it look like an accident."

Sam looks up in time to catch the fleeting look of sheer panic that flashes across Dean's brothers' face as he meets Ellen's stony glare and he snorts at the sudden image of his womanizing brother being chased round the Roadhouse by a shotgun-wielding Ellen. "She looks pissed, dude," he continues, "maybe we should hide her rifle?" He can feel the corners of his mouth twisting into a smirk. "Then again, the last time you tried that, you got your ass handed to you." He cocks his head, surveying his brother like an inquisitive puppy before delivering the final blow. "By a girl."

He's nearly not quick enough. Dean's got half a second on him and he just manages to get away by slipping out of his over-shirt. He glances over his shoulder, grinning as he catches a glance of Dean looking murderously at the chequered material clutched in his hand.

Ellen is watching them, arms folded stiffly across her chest, her eyebrows so high they're in danger of disappearing into her hairline and he bolts when Dean takes off after him, ducking around the dilapidated furniture separating him from safety. He can see Ellen's eyes widen almost comically as she realises what he's about to do and she uncrosses her arms, bringing her hands up in front of her and bracing herself as she shakes her head frantically. "Don't you dare, Winchester," she barks as he barrels down on her, sending chairs flying as he tries to throw off his raging bull of an older brother.

Sanctuary.

He dives behind Ellen, grasping her shoulders as he thrusts her in front of him, grinning when Dean skids. Earlier terror forgotten, Dean's eyes flash angrily as he slams on the brakes to avoid sandwiching Ellen between 380 pounds of Winchester. "Sam," he snarls, utterly oblivious to the look of sheer fury on Ellen's face as he lunges for his brother. He misses by millimetres, his fingers brushing over the denim covering Sam's hip as the Sasquatch somehow manages to swerve away from his outstretched hand and ducks down behind his human shield, a gleeful smirk on his face.

"I'm warning you, boys," Ellen barks as Sam tightens his grip on her waist and spins her to keep her between him and his brother, "You thought your Daddy was a hard-ass, well, he ain't got nothing on me." She glares fiercely at the older Winchester, then over her shoulder at the youngest. "Get your goddamn hands off me," she growls and Sam releases her, eyes wide and scared.

The momentary lapse costs him dearly. He hits the ground hard when Dean charges him and he ends up sprawled out on the floor, body pinned by 180 pounds of vengeful older brother. "What's that you were saying, Sammy?" he asks innocently as Sam struggles to free his wrists from Dean's solid grip. "Uncle, dude, uncle," Sam gasps, and Dean laughs, shaking his head.

"Always such a girl, Sammy," he smirks, releasing his brother's wrists and pressing his knee into Sam's stomach as he pushes himself upright. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, huffing as his brother crushes him, his version of getting the last word in.

"Need a hand up there, Sasquatch?" He opens an eye to Dean's smug face hovering inches from his and he pushes himself up to lean on his elbows. He glares at the hand being waved in front of him and grasping it, he's hauled to his feet slightly harder than necessary, sending him stumbling.

"Jerk," he mutters, reaching out to steady himself against the wall and Dean's mouth quirks. "Bitch."

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